Waiting
by vanillaparchment
Summary: Sometimes, all a person wants is a second look. H/Hr.


"Running again, are we?"

She scrubbed at her eyes miserably.

"Oh, go away."

He smiled crookedly, leaning up against the stone wall and watching her with the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth. His hair was, of course, extremely messy, and he examined his fingernails with idle interest.

"He doesn't mean it, Hermione. Just let it go."

"I'm sick of it, Harry! Half the time I think he forgets what I look like!" she laughed mirthlessly, another sob bubbling up in her throat, "I should just end it to save him the trouble!"

"Maybe you should."

His statement was straightforward, simple. She peered up at him, and he handed her a handkerchief and the books she had hurled at her boyfriend.

"That was a pretty good throw. Ron was out cold."

She managed a smile, and he gently patted her shoulder.

"What do you think about it—honestly?"

"What?" he said, evading the question with an odd look on his face. She looked into his green eyes, and he ducked his head, fiddling with his glasses.

"You know what I mean. Ron and I. This whole… experiment," she said, hugging her books to her chest.

His jaw tightened slightly, but he shrugged.

"I don't know."

She gave him a look.

He relented then, sighing. He couldn't lie to her.

"It's making you miserable," he said quietly, looking determinedly, "and I hate that."

He paused.

"I mean, Ron's my best mate. He's a brilliant friend. But… the way he treats you—well, it's a bit…"

He trailed off, and Hermione looked down at her shoes. She felt strangely relieved.

"I know," she whispered. "I should end it. _I_ make him miserable."

She forced a laugh.

"After all, I'm just boring, bossy, plain—"  
"No, you're not!" he interjected, "Well, all right, you are a bit bossy, but you're not plain. You're not boring."

_I suppose I'm 'not ugly', either._ Hermione added mentally. She smiled wryly.

"Thank you, Harry. That's very kind of you."

He studied her.

"You don't believe me, do you?" he said, and she looked away. Suddenly, she felt him grip her shoulders gently. She looked up, and he looked back at her, his grip loosening as if he were afraid she were going to throw her book at him, too. The thought made her laugh inwardly.

"Ron doesn't know how lucky he is." Harry said after a pause, in a soft voice. His school tie was badly askew, and she reached up and adjusted it. He lowered his head slightly.

"He doesn't realize that some people spend ages looking for someone like you. That some people find it—and lose it."

She gazed at him, speechless. His green eyes were locked steadily onto hers, and his forehead brushed against hers briefly. He blinked rapidly behind his glasses, stammering hastily, "Sorry—I didn't mean to…"

He trailed off.

"Look," he said briskly, "the truth is, you're running from Ron, and that's not a good sign, is it? I mean, isn't the person you love supposed to be the one you run to—and not the person you run _from?"_

She ran her fingers along the cover of her book, secretly taken aback both by what he had said and the business-like way he had said it. But she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I know when I was with Ginny, I wanted space to breathe. I wanted to avoid her." He paused and added sheepishly, "I've never told anyone that. I'm trusting you not to tell!"

Which made her smile.

"I mean, when we were friends, it was great. She and I shared a sense of humor, and who doesn't like to laugh? So it seemed like it would work out, but… it never got really serious. I mean, there are some people who you just can't spend extended periods of time with, and I couldn't share a lot of my life with her anyway. She didn't want it, you know. So… we're better off as friends, and she's been a brilliant friend."

He said all of this in a great rush, and Hermione stared at him. It was the most she had ever heard him say about any of his previous romantic relationships.

"You've been thinking about this a lot."

Then he gave her the strangest of looks, a look that seemed to be of wistful amusement. The corners of his mouth turned up in a slow, soft smile and his eyes softened, and Hermione suddenly realized his gaze was directed purposefully on hers.

"Yeah, sort of."

The strangest sensation had begun in the pit of her stomach, as if she had just downed a bottle of butterbeer, and she hugged her books tightly, biting her lip and looking away.

"So," he said, his voice returning to that briskly cheery tone that she associated with conversations about her relationship with Ron, "I'm not telling you what to do or anything, but I think you and him… well, something's not really… right. Not that it can't be, I mean, I reckon you can work it out, but—"

"Harry," she interrupted, and he fell silent. "It's all right. I understand."

He pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose and shrugged sheepishly, twiddling with the unbuttoned cuffs of his white shirt.

"Well," he said, taking a few casual steps backwards, "I'll just leave you to your thoughts."

That soft smile pulled at the right corner of his mouth one more time.

"I'm sure there are a lot of them."

As if that had cleared up everything, he raised a hand in an offhand wave, and jogged away toward the lake.

Hermione watched him greet Neville with a high-five, kicking off his shoes and wading into the green shallows of the lake.

That odd sensation had returned again, an odd, warm tingling at the pit of her stomach, and she slid into a sitting position, her back against the wall.

Her books abandoned beside her, she watched Harry and Neville plucking indistinguishable plants from the depths of the lake. Neville jumped, dropping what looked like a lobster back into the water with a plop.

Harry threw back his head and laughed, his shoulders shaking with his merriment. The breeze swept his hair into an even messier state, and Hermione shook her head, a smile playing about her mouth. There was no combing that mop of hair.

Suddenly, Harry looked around, and she could swear she could feel his eyes smiling at her, even from so far away. Neville looked around too.

Harry raised a hand and waved.

She felt her heart swell. She waved back, smiling and hoping he could see it.

Ankle-deep in the murky waters of the lake, Harry and Neville watched her return the wave. As Harry bent to pluck another handful of the water herb they were harvesting, Neville spoke in a low voice.

"Are you going to tell her?"

Harry withdrew his hand and looked up. His gaze fell on Hermione again, and his eyes looked suddenly misty, melancholy.

"Only when she's ready," he responded softly, and he let the plant slip back into the water.

"What if that takes a while?"

He shrugged and smiled in her direction.

"Never mind that," he said, finally looking at Neville. He looked unusually peaceful. "I think she's coming around. I reckon—she's finally finished seeing what was right in front of her, you know—maybe she'll finally look at what's standing beside her."

He looked up at Hermione one more time, his gaze serious and intent.

"She's a smart girl, Hermione. She'll notice."

He laughed suddenly and clapped Neville on the shoulder.

"Come on, mate. Let's finish this."

Neville glanced up at Hermione quickly, and saw her gaze directed at Harry. He found himself grinning.

She was beginning to wake up.


End file.
